Fighting, As a Millionaire
by Sewnata
Summary: This is for those of you that have seen Disney's The Happiest Millionaire. This is the extended version, where John Lawless and his master Mr. Biddle go to war (couldn't wait to show them in the trenches!). But when the two are separated, how do they deal with trying to survive?
1. Chapter 1

This would be the continuation of the Happiest Millionaire. Mr. Anthony Biddle has learned jujitsu, and both he and John Lawless are serving in World War 1. I don't own anybody in this story except for Lieutenant Manfred and the nurse at the hospital.

Chapter 1

"War, sir? You really mean it?" The Irishman seemed perplexed. For about a year and a half, he and his master, Mr. Anthony Biddle had been training at Paris Island. But since President Wilson hadn't made any moves John had assumed that their marine training would end in another couple of years.

But that wasn't what was happening. And Mr. Biddle seemed to be enjoying himself. He held out the uniform to his butler invitingly.

"We've both grown strong, John. And now, President Wilson wants us to go out, and fight for our country. It took him long enough to realize that he should have let me enlist. Blasted ideas about age!" He stormed.

John patted him on the shoulder nervously. Even though he knew that he could probably kill a few Germans without being killed himself, the idea of dying in those trenches didn't quite suit him. "Yes, sir. But are you sure about this, sir? Dying in the trenches isn't my idea of a good burial, sir." He argued.

Mr. Biddle turned to glare at John. "Are you afraid, Mr. Lawless? After all, since you're part of that tattered "Rainbow Brigade" I would think that you would feel a certain zeal in joining up for a worthy cause." He didn't want to despise the man that he had trusted with his alligators back in Philadelphia. But he couldn't help it. The man was sounding like a blasted coward!

John instantly shrunk back from his master, and ran his fingers through his strawberry blonde, wavy hair. "I'm sorry, sir. But I am just a little nervous. It's nothing, sir. I'll go with you to Europe, if that's what you desire, sir." He conceded. He hadn't been taught ju-jitsu and all the in's and outs of war just to return home to Philadelphia.

John tried to shrug off the cold, as he remembered the little tiff that he and his master had had. How many months ago had that been? Six? Seven? He couldn't remember.

But all he could remember was that he was cold, hungry and miserable. All that time in the snow filled trenches in Amherst Belgium had worn him down to a small nub of the Irishman he'd been when he'd enlisted.

He rubbed at his frozen fingertips, replaced the helmet on the back of his head, and started to whistle 'Yankee Doodle Boy'.

"Private Lawless! What are you doin down here, me boy!" The Scotch Lieutenant, Manfred shouted, grabbing John by the collar of his coat. "You're going to catch your death o'cold out here, son!" He warned.

John laughed. "Oh, I'll be alright Lieutenant Manfred. Just thought I'd take a turn on watch meself. Wanted a bit'o fresh air before I settled into the trenches." He explained quickly, knowing how much the old Scotsman cared for him.

Manfred's eyes twinkled. "I know how much ye fear the trenches, lad. I myself have had a dreaded fear of them since the beginning o'the war. Don't ye worry, it will soon pass." He patted his new friend on the shoulder comfortingly, and turning back to the camps squeezed in among the rows of pits.

John nodded, as he accompanied the Scotsman back to the dreaded camps. How many deaths had he seen in the past few weeks? He didn't know. But the trenches were filled with dead bodies, flies, old rusting weapons and those rats that converged on dead or unconscious men's bodies, stripping them down to a mere skeleton. He pinched his nose closed. He still hadn't gotten used to the smell, even after all that time.

He smiled at Mr. Biddle, as he spotted him, leaning against the muddy wall. "Why hello, sir! I didn't realize that you were at the shooting gallery!"

Anthony turned on his butler, with a welcoming glare. "John! You sure took your time! What've you been doing man?"

John chuckled. "I-I was at the back, taking a breath of fresh air, sir. But don't worry, I was with Lieutenant Manfred the entire time!" He promised.

"Well, I still can't see how you Irishmen are so darn quick! Colonel Davies wants you to take over the sniping, anyhow!" He grumbled, as a heavy barrage of shells pummeled the trench, even finding their way in. The explosions were everywhere.

In a quick second reflex, John jumped on his master's back, pushed him to the ground, and became a human shield. He took a deep breath fighting the feeling to scream, as shrapnel tore at his legs and back.

Mr. Biddle crawled out from under him, as the barrage ceased. "John, John are you alright?" He asked weakly, his voice wavering, as he realized that John had just sacrificed himself.

John nodded slowly. "My back's a bit sore…and my legs are…" He paused to wince as he tried to sit up. "Can you see?"

Mr. Biddle nodded, and bent down to untie John's woolen leg wrappings, which had acted as bandages until the present moment. "They're pretty cut up. But at least your head's alright. I'll have Lieutenant Manfred take you the distance to the hospital. But in the meantime, don't fall asleep; I wouldn't want to lose you." He said kindly.

John smiled slightly. "But I'm supposed to stay and carry out the orders sir! We're going to make a charge at sundown!" He hadn't admitted it, but he had slowly become used to that sort of fighting style, and enjoyed the "pushes" across the frozen wasteland.

Mr. Biddle shook his head. "No, John. With your legs in that condition, you shouldn't even be in the trenches right now. I want you to come back in tip top shape, you understand me?"

"Yes sir." The Irishman said glumly, wincing as Lieutenant Manfred eased him into his arms.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Mr. Biddle glanced up at the colorless, winter sky and sighed. It had been three days since he and John had been separated, but it didn't take much to make Anthony J. Biddle miserable.

"How are you getting on, Captain?" Lieutenant Manfred asked, trying to be social. He'd noticed that the loss of John's company had affected Biddle greatly, and he didn't much like the results.

Mr. Biddle eyed him dubiously. "I'd be alright, Lieutenant, if you'd tell me the whereabouts of my friend, Private Lawless! We've been serving together long enough to realize that keeping together is good for morale!" Biddle huffed.

Manfred laughed and hunched down, as a shell made top of the trench wall crumble behind him. "Morale, eh? Well, nobody can deny any of you some of that while we're fighting the Kaiser. I'm afraid that I don't know the complete whereabouts of your friend though, Captain. Mr. O'Leary, the man that drives the medical cart, told me that by the time they reached the hospital, Lawless was missing among the wounded, sir." The Lieutenant said apologetically, cursing as a snowflake landed on his nose.

"Well where has the man gone, blast it!" Anthony raised his hands in the air, and shook his head exasperated. "He can't just have disappeared into thin air!"

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that that's the case, Captain Biddle!" Manfred shouted over the barrage of shells. "But I have some men combing the area for him, don't you worry!"

John shivered, at the cold breeze blowing across his shoulders. He glared at the burly German who was hoisting him up by the collar of his uniform, he'd lost his coat somewhere by the German lines, after he'd fallen asleep; using it as a blanket. The thug hadn't given him any time to retrieve it. "Well, you could be a little nicer about your greeting, sir!"

The man didn't say anything. He merely grunted, and started marching faster, his head bent against the wind that blew snow into his face.

"Ah, Adolf! Brought another one I see! And a wounded one at that! Good man!" A young officer hailed, in perfect English John noted. "Tie him up, and put him with the others. Now, you go with Adolf like a good man, and you'll make some new friends."

"You speak English, sir?" John stuttered, not quiet used to hearing the voice of an Englishman outside of the cramped quarters of his side of the trenches. But the thug named Adolf kept him on his toes…if he'd been able to stand up much at all.

"Of course I bally well do! And Sergeant Adolf found you hiding away behind our lines, didn't he! I'm afraid that I've been working for the Germs for quite a while. Now take care of him Adolf, I think the man is talking a little too much." He whispered in the Sergeant's ear, giving John another charming smile.

"B-but…" John stopped talking, as Adolf dragged him off, punching him roughly in the face.

"Keep quiet, you leprechaun." He barked. "You won't need to do much talking where you're going."

"It's time for another push, Captain! Are you ready?" Manfred was yelling at the top of his lungs, trying to wake the war-weary millionaire from his slumber, with little success. It seemed that the man had gotten used to the sound of shells pounding the sides of the trenches, not to mention the blood curdling screams and what not. "Captain Biddle!"

Anthony shook himself awake, his face paling. He'd thought at first that it was John calling him; he'd promised his daughter Cordie that he'd look after the young Irishman, ever since she got word that they were joining up with the British; dissatisfied with President Wilson's caution in getting mixed up with the war proceedings.

"Oh, Manfred, it's you." He said disconsolately. "Any sign of John yet? They have found him, haven't they?" He grabbed at his gun, and pulled his helmet down.

"No, I'm afraid they haven't sir! But we-we found this just behind German lines. Thought you might recognize it…" Manfred held out a coat, his hopefulness turned to fear as Anthony leapt upon him.

"Yes I do recognize it, blast it! That's John's coat; the poor man's probably freezing to death without it! Are you suggesting he's been captured by the Kaiser?" There was a frantic fear in Anthony's eyes now. He'd promised everybody in Philadelphia that they would come home in one piece…this was hardly keeping his promise. "I-I'd better go look for him!"

Manfred grabbed him by the elbow. "You can't do that, Captain! You need to lead the push of your men first! Duty before friendship!" He reminded.

Anthony shook his head. "I know that you blasted Scot! But I promised John, that I'd look after him. And when you're a man of your word, breaking a promise is taboo! I leave you in charge of my men, lead them in the charge. I have to find John!"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

John peeled his eyes open, and clutched at the side of the trench, as he felt Adolf booting him in the ribs.

"Get up. Get up!" Adolf grabbed him by the lapels of his shirt, and yanked him from off of the floor of the trench where John had fallen asleep, exhausted from yesterday's antics. "You need to get ready for transport." He said shortly, dragging him to his feet.

John groaned, as Adolf set him on his feet. The shrapnel was digging farther into his calves, and it was hurting him. He limped forwards, setting his teeth against the pain; he glared at Adolf. "Not at all, at all."

"This way." Adolf seemed unfazed by John's glare. He pushed him forwards, farther and farther down the long line of the trench until they came out the back to a truck waiting for them. There were other men piled in the back, all looking miserable. "Get in." Adolf said, indicating the truck bed.

John nodded-and despite his aching legs-hoisted himself into the back, sitting cross-legged in a small, unoccupied spot as the others made room for him.

"Where is Mr. Biddle when I need him." He muttered under his breath, glancing up as he noticed one of the soldiers looking at him greedily. "What?!"

The man didn't say a word, he only leered at John with a hungry look, as if John might have something-anything to give him; which was absurd.

Now John wasn't just confused, he was annoyed. "Why are you looking at me like that, sir?!"

The soldier squatted down beside him. "Give me your belt." He glared at John, when he didn't make a move to remove the belt around his waist; he was amazed that the German hadn't made him take it off earlier.

"I said, take it off!" The soldier snarled, kicking John in the chest with the toe of his boot, knocking him back.

"Leave him alone! The man has more guts than any of us, standing up to you." Another soldier hissed in the other's ear, punching him in the face and knocking him down. He knelt down beside John, and gave him a welcoming grin. "You alright, buddy?"

John nodded, rubbing at his sore chest. "Yes, thank you sir. You're American?"

"Yes. Formally, I'm Lieutenant James Malcom, but you can just call me Jimmy." Malcom grinned, and took off his helmet, running his fingers through his dark hair. "But you're Irish aren't you? I didn't expect to see one of your kind fighting alongside the Brits." He chuckled.

John gave a wry smile. "I'm Captain Anthony Biddle's butler, sir; although I have had an interest in these affairs since the very beginning."

Malcom laughed. "Well, you can't get any more into the war front than this, boy. But I don't think I know your name…" He held out his hand in greeting.

John shook it. "Private John Lawless, Philadelphia Marine Corp. It's very nice to meet you sir."

"Same for me." Malcom laughed, as the truck pulled up in front of a beat-up looking brick building. "But we'd better hush." He whispered. "These guards are tires, and they aren't going to take any lip from any of us…so let's just keep quiet."

John nodded, and pressed a finger to his lips as a reminder, as several Germans descended on the truck to collect the prisoners.

 **Author's Note: Ok, so I do own Liuetenant Malcom, Adolf, and the British spy for the Germans! Sorry for all the confusion!**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Keep the red-headed one for questioning." A guard gestured towards John, as Malcom helped him out of the back of the truck, letting him lean his weight on him.

"Hey, hey, hey, what're you doing?!" Malcom shouted as the truck driver took charge of John, dragging him along unceremoniously into one of the nearby buildings.

John grinned at his new friend. "Don't worry, laddie! I'll be quite alright!" He glanced up nervously at the driver, who was carrying him towards a pair of ropes dangling from the ceiling. "Oi, what're you doin' with that!" John's smile turned to a glare, as the German attached the ropes to his wrists, making his arms hang slightly in the air; his whole body bent forward.

A German in a heavy looking trench-coat strode through the door, fiddling with the leather gloves in his hands. "I see you've brought another prisoner for interrogation." He muttered, looking slightly uninterested.

The guard standing beside John saluted quickly. "His legs are wounded, Colonel Adenaur. He cannot go anywhere, except with assistance."

The Colonel smiled unpleasantly, while slipping on his gloves. "The man will have to learn to walk, Sergeant. Hand me that stick."

John's eyes widened at the sight of the heavy, wooden object in the Colonel's hand, but didn't flinch back. "If ye think I'm goin' to tell you bloody Germans anything, you'd be right wrong." John liked the way "bloody Germans" rolled off his tongue; he'd heard the term often enough in the trenches from his fellow British.

Adenaur tapped the stick against John's shoulder experimentally. "You shouldn't talk like that, sir. It's not good to curse at people you don't know; you can never tell their reaction." He circled around John a moment, thumping him on the ribs this time.

"I'll talk anyway that I like, sir, if you don't mind. And would you please get that stick away from me, I really don't appreciate it, sir." John turned his face away, as the Adenaur slipped off his glove and slapped him in the face with it.

"So, you think your opinion counts, hmmm?" He knelt down beside him, and made him look into his face. "Now…I want to know what the next move is for your men. Are they making another push across that frozen wasteland?" He gave John a hard hit to the stomach with his stick. "Are you going to tell me, you leprechaun, or do I have to beat it out of you." He snarled.

John bent forwards, trying not to make a noise as the stick met his gut. His eyes flashed, and he fought against the ropes. "I-I'm not going to tell ye, sir, and that's a fact. Do you really think that mere intimidation will bring me to the conclusion that I have to give you that information, you're very wrong, sir."

"Yes, but it generally helps. Now, tell me what I want to know, or I'll give you a beating that you will never forget. Are you willing to tell me, now?" Adenaur pressing the front of the stick against John's throat.

"No, I told ye before. I'm not going to rat out on my friends like that! I…ah!" He stopped talking, as the Colonel brought his stick down hard, smashing him repeatedly with it, fury in his eyes.

John leaned forward heavily on the ropes, and spat out a tooth that Adenaur had knocked loose. He smiled slightly, as he watched the Colonel stalk out, fury written on his face.

He glanced up, as the Colonel strode back in, this time with accomplices, all armed with sticks this time.

John sighed, and tried to make himself more comfortable on the floor of the building. It was going to be a long, hard night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ok, I own Adenaur, Diefenbach and Schmidt.**

Chapter 5

"Captain Biddle! Captain Biddle, we found Lawless's whereabouts!"

Anthony turned when he heard someone shouting his name, and started crawling towards the voice, smoke, dirt and shrapnel from exploded shells flying all around him. He leaned against the wall of the trench, just as Lieutenant Manfred met up with him.

He glanced at Manfred irritably. "Alright, what's the trouble, Lieutenant?"

Manfred grinned. "Didn't you hear what I just said, sir? We've found Private Lawless's whereabouts!" He said excitedly.

Anthony stared at him, a slow smile creasing his face. "You found John? Where is he? Is there any chance that we can get him out of there with a small, picked force?" A million questions seemed to jump into his mind at once, in the excitement and the confusion.

Manfred held up a hand. "He's in a POW camp just outside of German lines…a few miles out I'd guess. A good spot for one too. But I think that you could easily raid the place…and get your friend out easily. With a hand-picked force, that is."

Anthony nodded. "Alright then! Go tell Sanders, Peterson and Lobe that I want to see them right away."

John's eyes flew open when he felt someone lay a hand on his bruised shoulder. "Wha-what?"

Anthony felt a hard lump appear in his throat, when he saw John's condition. The man was black and blue from head to toe! He shook him gently. "John, it's me, Mr. Biddle. I'm going to get you out of here, and so help me, if those blasted German's get in the way, I'll know how to deal with them!" He ranted, fumbling with the knots that held John's arms captive.

"D-did you rescue Malcom too?" John said as loudly as he dared, rubbing his wrists, as Anthony loosed the ropes.

Anthony cocked his head to the side. "Malcom? Who's that? Do you mean Lieutenant James Malcom? I was wondering where the deuce he'd got to. But can't you start thinking about your blasted self for once, John?" Anthony's eyes twinkled.

"We need to get out of here; and try to bring Malcom too. He's become a friend, sir." John said hurriedly, trying to stand up, but failing miserably. He sat down on the ground, hard, biting his lower lip-with tears in his eyes.

Anthony gave him a concerned glance. "Your legs are hurting you, hmmm? Well, we'll try to get that remedied as soon as possible. Right now, I just need you to try and move as quickly as you can. I'm sorry if that seems like a lot." He said hurriedly, grabbing hold of John's arm and helping him up.

John nodded wearily, limping forwards until he heard the sound of the door opening, allowing Adenaur and a few of his cohorts to stride through. He gasped.

"Ah, I see that you _were_ able to make connections." Adenaur sneered. "Schmidt, take the redheaded gentleman to the waterboarding sector, he's the only prisoner that hasn't had a chance to get dunked; it's only fair. As for this other one…. have Diefenbach tie him up where his friend was. He needs to understand what happens to those that try to steal my children from me."

John gave the Colonel a searing glare as Schmidt dragged him away, but tried to look reassuring to Mr. Biddle. "It's alright sir, I'll come back in one piece."

John sputtered and coughed as he was pulled out of the water, his bare back rubbing painfully against the make-shift wooden inversion board that hung him just above the water.

Schimdt grinned. "You didn't seem to be able to understand that Colonel Adenaur punishes those that try to escape from this home of his. You should've understood that while you had the chance." He pushed the board under again.

John squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to hold his breath, his chest starting to burn from the action. He just hoped that Mr. Biddle wasn't having as much trouble as he was.


End file.
